My Heart is Still

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Christian poetry

A beautiful poem for those who long to serve. The poet is, to me, unknown.

I longed to walk along an easy road,
And leave behind the dull routine of home,
Thinking in other fields to serve my God;
But Jesus said, “My time has not yet come.”

I longed to sow the seed in other soil,
To be unshackled in the work, and free,
To join with other laborers in their toil;
But Jesus said, “It’s not My choice for thee.”

I longed to leave the desert, and be led
To work where souls were sunk in sin and shame,
That I might win them; but the Master said,
“I have not called you, publish here My name.”

I longed to fight the battles of my King,
Lift high His standards in the thickest strife;
But my great Captain had me wait and sing
Songs of His conquests in my quiet life.

I longed to leave the hard and difficult sphere,
Where all alone I seemed to stand and wait,
To feel I had some human helper near,
But Jesus had me guard one lonely gate.

I longed to leave the common daily toil,
Where no one seemed to understand or care;
But Jesus said, “I choose for you this soil,
That you might raise for Me some blossoms rare.”

And now I have no longing but to do
At home, or far away, His blessed will,
To work amid the many or the few;
Thus, “choosing not to choose,” my heart is still.

 

Would I Be Called A Christian? by Mrs. J.F. Moser

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Christian poetry, Would I Be Called A Christian?

Would I be called a Christian if everybody knew
My secret thoughts and feelings and everything I do?
Oh, could they seek the likeness of Christ in me each day?
Oh, could they hear Him speaking in every word I say?

Would I be called a Christian if everyone could know
That I am found in places where Jesus would not go?
Oh, could they hear His echo in every song I sing?
In eating, drinking, dressing, could they see Christ, my King?

Would I be called a Christian if judged by what I read,
by all my recreations and every thought and deed?
Could I be counted Christ-like as I now work and pray,
Unselfish, kind, forgiving to others every day?

All Things To Me by Grace E. Easley

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All Things To Me by Grace E. Easley, Christian poetry

And since I am not

brave and strong,

Give me Thy hand;

The night is dark

and this is such

a foreign land.

And since I stumble

often, ‘lest

I lose my way,

Walk with me ’til

the night becomes

another day.

Thou knowest of my need

for love,

since love Thou art.

Let me lay my weary head

against Thy heart.

And being nothing

without Thee

Lord, Thou must be

all things to me.

 

Trust Him (poet unknown)

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Christian poetry, trusting God

Trust Him when dark doubts assail thee,

Trust Him when thy strength is small,

Trust Him when to simply trust Him

Seems the hardest thing of all.

Trust Him, He is ever faithful;

Trust Him, for His will is best;

Trust Him, for the Heart of Jesus

Is the only place of rest.

 

Trust Him, then, through doubts and sunshine,

All thy cares upon Him cast.

Till the storm of life is over

And the trusting days are past.

 

All I Need by Sandra Town Lytle

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Christian poetry, New Year's Poem

I like to spend my New Years’ eves
In solitude, in humble prayer,
In thanks for each year, as it leaves;
For one more year of God’s sweet care.
Then, too, I pray for strength, that I
Might do His will this coming year
And that I might still harder try
To be a friend to those held dear.
I’ve had my years of “gaiety,”
With parties and a noisy crowd –
And emptiness inside of me
While those around me laugh too loud.
In these, my golden years, I find
The way to end the old year right,
Which gives me joy and peace of mind
Before retiring for the night,
Is blissful hours at home alone,
With music, and a book to read,
And time in prayer for love God’s shown –
It’s all I ask . . . and all I need.

 

The Life That He Led by Ernest H. Crosby

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Christian poetry, Ernest H. Crosby

So he died for his faith. That is fine,
More than most of us do.
But stay, can you add to that line

That he lived for it, too?
In death he bore witness at last
As a martyr to truth.
Did his life do the same in the past
From the days of his youth?

It is easy to die. Men have died
For a wish or a whim-
From bravado or passion or pride.
Was it harder for him?

But to live: every day to live out
All the truth that he dreamt,
While his friends met his conduct with doubt,
And the world with contempt.

Was it thus that he plodded ahead,
Never turning aside?
Then we’ll talk of the life that he led-
Never mind how he died.

~~Ernest H. Crosby

A Woman’s Question by Adelaide Proctor

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A Woman's Question, Adelaide Proctor, Christian poetry, Marriage, womanhood

Before I trust my fate to thee,

Or place my hand in thine,

Before I let thy future give

Color and form to mine,

Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret:
Is there one link within the Past
That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouch’d, unshar’d by mine?
If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feel,
Within thy inmost soul,
That thou hast kept a portion back,
While I have stak’d the whole;
Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?
One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now—lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid
The demon-spirit Change,
Shedding a passing glory still
On all things new and strange?
It may not be thy fault alone—but shield my heart against thy own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,
That Fate, and that to-day’s mistake—
Not thou—had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou wilt surely warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not,—I dare not hear,
The words would come too late;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,
So, comfort thee, my fate—
Whatever on my heart may fall—remember, I would risk it all!

I Prayed For Strength by Annie Johnson Flint

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Annie Johnson Flint, Christian poetry

      I prayed for strength, and then I lost awhile
      All sense of nearness, human and divine;
      The love I leaned on failed and pierced my heart,
      The hands I clung to loosed themselves from mine;
      But while I swayed, weak, trembling, and alone,
      The everlasting arms upheld my own.
      
      I prayed for light; the sun went down in clouds,
      The moon was darkened by a misty doubt,
      The stars of heaven were dimmed by earthly fears,
      And all my little candle flames burned out;
      But while I sat in shadow, wrapped in night,
      The face of Christ made all the darkness bright.
      
      I prayed for peace, and dreamed of restful ease,
      A slumber drugged from pain, a hushed repose;
      Above my head the skies were black with storm,
      And fiercer grew the onslaught of my foes;
      But while the battle raged, and wild winds blew,
      I heard His voice and Perfect peace I knew.
      
      I thank Thee, Lord, Thou wert too wise to heed
      My feeble prayers, and answer as I sought,
      Since these rich gifts Thy bounty has bestowed
      Have brought me more than all I asked or thought;
      Giver of good, so answer each request
      With Thine own giving, better than my best.

The Church Walking With The World by Matilda C. Edwards

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Christian poetry, church

 

The church and the world walked far apart
On the changing shores of time,
The World was singing a giddy song,
And the Church a hymn sublime.
“Come, give me your hand,” said the merry World
“And walk with me this way!”
But the good Church hid her snowy hands
And solemnly answered “Nay,
I will not give you my hand at all,
And I will not walk with you;
Your way is the way that leads to death;
Your words are all untrue.”

“Nay, walk with me but a little space,”
Said the World with a kindly air;
“The road I walk is a pleasant road,
And the sun shines always there;
Your path is thorny and rough and rude
But mine is broad and plain;
My way is paved with flowers and dew
And yours with tears and pain;

The sky to me is always blue,
No want, no toil I know;
The sky above you is always dark,
Your lot is a lot of woe;
There’s room enough for you and me
To travel side by side.”

Half shyly the Church approached the World
And gave him her hand of snow;
And the old World grasped it and walked along,
Saying, in accents low,
“Your dress is too simple to please my taste;
I will give you pearls to wear,
Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form,
And diamonds to deck your hair.”
The Church looked down at her plain white robes,
And then at the dazzling World,
And blushed as she saw his handsome lip
With a smile contemptuous curled.
“I will change my dress for a costlier one,”
Said the Church, with a smile of grace;
Then her pure white garments drifted away,
And the World gave, in their place,
Beautiful satins and shining silks,
Roses and gems and costly pearls;
While over her forehead her bright hair fell
Crisped in a thousand curls.

“Your house is too plain,” said the proud old World,
“I’ll build you one like mine;
With walls of marble and towers of gold,
And furniture ever so fine.”
So he built her a costly and beautiful house;
Most splendid it was to behold;
Her sons and her beautiful daughters dwelt there
Gleaming in purple and gold;
Rich fairs and shows in the halls were held,
And the World and his children were there.
Laughter and music and feasts were heard
In the place that was meant for prayer.
There were cushioned seats for the rich and the gay,
To sit in their pomp and pride;
But the poor who were clad in shabby array,
Sat meekly down outside.

“You give too much to the poor,” said the World.
“Far more than you ought to do;
If they are in need of shelter and food,
Why need it trouble you?
Go, take your money and buy rich robes,
Buy horses and carriages fine;
Buy pearls and jewels and dainty food,
Buy the rarest and costliest wine;
My children, they dote on all these things,
And if you their love would win
You must do as they do, and walk in the ways
That they are walking in.”

So the poor were turned from her door in scorn,
And she heard not the orphan’s cry;
But she drew her beautiful robes aside,
As the widows went weeping by.

Then the sons of the World and the Sons of the Church
Walked closely hand and heart,
And only the Master, who knoweth all,
Could tell the two apart.
Then the Church sat down at her ease, and said,
“I am rich and my goods increase;
I have need of nothing, or aught to do,
But to laugh, and dance, and feast.”
The sly World heard, and he laughed in his sleeve,
And mockingly said, aside
“The Church is fallen, the beautiful Church;
And her shame is her boast and her pride.”

The angel drew near to the mercy seat,
And whispered in sighs her name;
Then the loud anthems of rapture were hushed
And heads were covered with shame;
And a voice was heard at last by the Church
From Him who sat on the throne,
“I know thy works, and how thou hast said,
`I am rich, and hast not known
That thou art naked, poor and blind,
And wretched before my face;’
Therefore from my presence cast I thee out,
And blot thy name from its place.”